


From Way Out in Right Field

by fictorium



Category: West Wing
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-05
Updated: 2012-08-05
Packaged: 2017-11-11 11:52:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/478256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fictorium/pseuds/fictorium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Orioles make the playoffs for the first time in thirteen years. Andy's running for a second term. She and Toby are at one of those points in their marriage, and of all the factors they're not expecting, it's safe to say that Jeffrey Maier isn't one of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	From Way Out in Right Field

-1-

  
  


So I'll keep you wondering what time I'm arriving 

And you'll drive me crazy with your backseat driving 

And I'll talk in my sleep and you'll steal all the covers 

We'll argue it out and we'll call ourselves lovers 

Dar Williams, In Love But Not At Peace

  


**September 28th, 1996**

  
  
“I suppose you’ve all heard the news from Toronto by now,” Andy yells, because even the microphone isn’t helping much with the chaos in the room right now. “But for the first time in thirteen years, the O’s are  in the playoffs . Bring on Cleveland!”   
  
  
The room erupts once more, and Andy hesitates a moment to drink in the charge in the atmosphere. It’s nights like these that make the double duty worth it--two votes on the floor today before next week’s Recess, and another fundraising event here in Rockville to keep her ticking over until November. The staff are quietly optimistic, but she’s wary of incumbent’s complacency. She’s not going to breathing all the way out until there’s a big tick next to her name next month.   
  
  
As she makes her way down from the improvised stage, Andy clutches gratefully at the proffered glass of Scotch. She’s feeling a little hot under the lights, and with the music starting up again, the heat in the hall is only going to increase. There’s a lot more grip ‘n’ grin to come before she makes her escape though, so she downs her drink and presses the glass of ice against her forehead for a moment’s respite.   
  
  
“You okay?” Meredith asks, leaning in close enough to be heard. She looks every bit as tired as Andy feels. Raising a three year old is as hard as campaigning, it would seem.   
  
  
“Yeah,” Andy says with a less fake smile scrounged up for her little sister. “Just looking forward to not being on my feet for a few hours.”   
  
  
“You’re back in DC in the morning?” Meredith follows up, her eyes scanning the crowd as they talk. She’s fiddling with her necklace as she does, a sure sign that all is not well. Andy makes a mental note to ask her about in when they get in the car later.   
  
  
“Not until lunchtime,” Andy confirms. “I’ll have to crash at Mom’s, since we stuck her with babysitting tonight.”   
  
  
“I think she’d rather watch Emily sleep than live through a party like this,” Meredith muses, before picking out her husband from the throng of people. “I need to check in with James, do you mind?”   
  
  
“Not at all,” Andy waves her away. It can’t be often the newlyweds get a night out like this, even if the reason for the party is electing her back into Congress for another term. It has booze and a dancefloor, so what else could they possibly need?   
  
  
She makes her way through the moving pack, stopping for handshakes wherever she has to, flexing out sore fingers in between. Andy’s quite confident she can hold her own with any man, but these bonecrushing handshakes were not intended for someone with long and slender fingers. It’ll be another ice pack before bed at this rate.   
  
  
Andy stops as if on command when someone grabs her elbow. Instead of an overtired staffer though, she finds her elder sister hiding out on the chairs laid out around the edge of the room.    
  
  
“Come, sit a while,” Cat pleads, looking a little worse for wear with a brand new vodka tonic in her hand.   
  
  
“What happened to your date?” Andy asks, flopping down on the empty seat to Cat’s left.   
  
  
“She apparently got bored. Who knew that a rally in Rockville is not, in fact, a romantic night out?”   
  
  
“Oh, I think just about everyone knows that,” Andy shoots back, but her heart isn’t in it. “When do you leave for London?”   
  
  
“Another topic on which Jessica apparently has very strong opinions,” Cat grouses, draining her glass with gusto. “But not until Sunday.”   
  
  
“You’re seeing Mom before you go?” Andy nudges, not sure when she picked up this particular baton. She lives an hour from their family home and never visits, so why nag Cat about it when she finally rolls in from New York?   
  
  
“Only if I can use you as a human shield,” Cat threatens. “Has Mer locked herself in a bathroom to cry yet?”   
  
  
“That’s not nice,” Andy scolds, flicking absently at the clasp on her watch. Not quite time to bail yet, but they’re getting there. “She had a really rough time with Emily for a while there.”   
  
  
“Hey, she’s the one who decided to settle down five minutes out of college.”   
  
  
“At least she had the baby before getting married,” Andy muses. “Gives the neighbors something to disapprove of.”   
  
  
“Did James seem okay to you?” Cat is watching the crowd now, fussing with the strands of hair that have come loose from her French braid.  “Mer says he hasn’t been well.”   
  
  
“Well, you know her. That could mean anything from ‘he has a cold’ to ‘his head is about to fall off’,” Andy says, and there’s a wave from someone in the crowd that she returns without even recognizing the face.   
  
  
“You should get back to your night,” Cat smiles, and Andy can feel the exhaustion radiating off her like heat; it’s mirrored perfectly by her own.   
  
  
“Yeah,” Andy stands, smoothing out her suit as she does. She’s regretting the blouse already--too shiny, too insubstantial for what she intended.    
  
  
“No hubby tonight?” Cat asks as she stands, with a little more wobbling, to join her sister. Her pantsuit is a kind of duck-egg blue that Andy feels would somehow never suit her, despite their similar coloring.   
  
  
“Nope, not tonight. He’s got some revisions for his guy’s speech in Richmond, in the morning. Didn’t sound too promising when he called.”   
  
  
“Guess again, sis,” Cat says, and with a smile she’s striding back towards the bar.   
  
  
  
  
  


-2-

  


“ Have a drink at your favorite bar till dark. 

Stumble into empty baseball park. 

Strike one and strike two... 

I guess we're both out.  ”

  


**Whiskeytown, Empty Baseball Park**

  
  
  
  
"Congresswoman, may I have this dance?" He asks, slipping into place behind her and letting his hands rest gently on her hips.   
  
  
"I'm not sure dancing in front of all these people is appropriate for a woman in my position," she answers, hips already moving to the beat despite her best efforts to stay still.   
  
  
"On the contrary, a woman in your position can't afford not to. Think of all the votes you might get from people who value rhythm in their elected representatives."   
  
  
"That's hard to argue against," she admits, turning around within his embrace to set eyes on him for the first time all week.   
  
  
"Hey," she says, dropping a swift but promising kiss on his mouth. "I see we're sticking with the full beard?"   
  
  
"I like it," he says, on the defensive in a heartbeat.   
  
  
"I like it too," Andy assures him. "I'm glad you came."   
  
  
"You know that when the women of Montgomery County call me, I am powerless to resist," Toby answers, with that lazy half-smile of his. "You think we can slip away for a minute?"   
  
  
He tugs crankily at the collar of his shirt, and the tie that doesn't quite go with his outfit. Andy's already taken in the dark circles under his eyes and the slight unkempt look to his hair. He's not been having a good week without her, it would seem.   
  
  
"Sure," she agrees. "Let me have a quick word with Mer, and I'll meet you out by the vending machines in two minutes."   
  
  
"Great," he says, with obvious relief. He presses a gentlemanly kiss to her cheek and fades back into the throng on the dance floor, all too easy to lose in the crowd.   
  
  
She keeps her word, give or take a couple of minutes, and finds him leaning back against the illuminated Coke sign, hands in his pockets.   
  
  
"You're a sight for sore eyes," Toby confesses, as she takes his hand and leads him down the corridor. The absence of other people relaxes him, takes some of the seriousness from his face, and it lightens her to be able to do it.   
  
  
"Let's go outside?" She asks, but she doesn't slow down any to let him protest the decision. She remembers these halls well despite it being twenty years since she walked them, and the door out into the playing fields is straight ahead.   
  
  
They make it all the way to the baseball diamond before either of them thinks to speak again. Andy is partly preserving her voice because tomorrow is two more speeches and a dinner afterwards that some donor--she'd probably better learn his name--is hosting at his home.   
  
  
“All set for Richmond in the morning?” She asks, her breath showing just slightly from the nip in the air.    
  
  
“Turns out that my presence is not so much required, after all,” Toby says, scuffing his loafers in the loose dirt and avoiding her eye.   
  
  
“He fired you?” Andy spits, flying from placid to raging in a second flat. “That goddamned punkass excuse for a Senator thinks he can fire you, a month out?”   
  
  
“No, say how you really feel,” Toby says with a grimace, and Andy bites back the next round of angry words, although it’s a wrench to give up on a few choice expletives.   
  
  
“I’m sorry,” she admits, and she pulls him into the hug whether he wants it or not. A pet name or a joke would be taking it too far, but three years in she’s finally starting to remember crap like that. He feels good against her, solid and very real after a lot of long weeks with snatched moments and pause-riddled phonecalls. He smells like the soap from their apartment laced with cigar smoke, but tonight of all nights she’s not going to be the lung police.   
  
  
“You’ll get someone better for the next round,” Andy soothes, her head on his shoulder. “Some of the City races look pretty competitive for next year. And the Presidential is only...”   
  
  
“Enough,” he snaps, but she can hear him regretting the tone in the anguished little breath that follows.   
  
  
“Okay,” she agrees, pulling back to look at him. “Toby... you know this doesn’t matter to me, right? It’s the game, babe.”   
  
  
He scrunches up his face at the ‘babe’, and she laughs just a little at the knowledge that they’re going to be okay.   
  
  
“This was your high school?” He asks, looking around at the poorly lit field.   
  
  
“No,” she swats at his head with her hand. “You idiot, I went to school about six towns away from here.”   
  
  
“Shame,” he murmurs. “I thought you were going to take me on a walking tour of your first rebellious acts of womanhood.”   
  
  
“That sounds pretty pervy, when you say it like that,” Andy warns, but she’s happily pulled into the kiss anyway.   
  
  
And it’s no gentle ‘welcome back’ kiss either, it’s possessive and a little bit angry and tinged with at least a hint of Scotch (there’ll be more, she knows, before the night is out).   
  
  
“I missed you,” Toby confesses when their lips part for just a moment, but he’s back to kissing her soundly before she can form a reply.    
  
  
“This is--oh!--a little insane,” Andy manages to choke out when his kisses progress to her neck, because damn him for knowing every sensitive millimeter of skin she possesses by now. She can feel the nerve endings fire up under his touch, until it seems like they must be lighting up like little bulbs on a Christmas tree. She takes an experimental half-step into him, and the fact that he’s hard already against her hip confirms he really has missed her as much as it seems.   
  
  
“Can anyone see us all the way out here?” Toby asks, his voice a little ragged as he methodically works his way down the buttons of her blouse.   
  
  
“Probably not,” Andy concedes, rubbing her hands encouragingly over his arms, urging him on. “But we probably shouldn’t be all night about it.”   
  
  
At that, he pulls her to the ground in a flurry of muttered instructions (his) and muffled giggles (hers). She stops worrying about the dirt on their clothes, or the chill in the air, and maybe because of that it’s just a little bit better than she expects.   
  
  
  
  
  


-3-

  


“If I love you,

is that a fact or a weapon?”

Margaret Atwood, We Are Hard on Each Other

  


  


**October 1st, 1996**

  
  
“Hey,” he says, dropping his briefcase on the floor.   
  
  
“Ssh,” she chastizes, curled up on the battered leather recliner with a stack of papers that she might seriously never get to the end of. The radio is hissing softly as Jon Miller gives the pre-game rundown.   
  
  
“I thought,” Toby sounds a little testy. “That you might be interested in the fact that I was offered a job today. Well, a book to write, anyway.”   
  
  
“Ghosting?” Andy looks up from the Environmental Impact reports at that, because it’s only been a few days and she didn’t even know he was looking yet, not seriously anyway.   
  
  
“Yeah, after an awkward round of questions about why a speechwriter can’t get a gig on his own wife’s campaign--”   
  
  
“We’ve been through that,” Andy snaps, unable to keep the temper in check. “We can’t work together, Toby.”   
  
  
“I  know ,” he sighs. Anyway, there’s a certain ex-President who isn’t coming through on his big advance.   
  
  
“It’s not--”   
  
  
“Yup,” Toby confirms.   
  
  
“But you disagree with everything the man stands for,” Andy says, genuinely confused now.   
  
  
“Doesn’t mean I can’t make it sound good,” Toby fires back, already wincing at the double negative.   
  
  
“Well, if it makes you happy...” she trails off. “Knock yourself out.”   
  
  
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” he huffs, pulling off his tie and dropping his jacket on top of her freshly-retrieved dry-cleaning.    
  
  
“It’s your career,” she points out, rubbing the arch of her foot as she watches him.  “I was gonna order some pizza...”   
  
  
“I ate,” Toby says, turning her down. “I have to do some reading, so I’ll be in the bedroom.”   
  
  
“Fine,” she says, picking up the report again, ignoring the flood of questions or conciliatory remarks queuing up at the tip of her tongue.   
  
  
“Oh, and in case I forget to say it later?” Toby throws back over his shoulder. “I hope your boys get creamed by Cleveland.”   
  
  
“Right back atcha,” she yells. “Only Texas, in your case.”   
  
  
“Duly noted,” Toby says, disappearing into the bedroom with a smile.   
  
  
  
  
-4-   
  


There's a high fly ball to right, deep...Going back is Tarasco, to the warning track, to the wall, he's under it now...AND IT'S TAKEN AWAY FROM HIM BY A FAN, AND THEY'RE GONNA CALL IT...A HOME RUN! 

I CAN'T BELIEVE IT! Richie Garcia is calling it a home run, and Tarasco is out to argue! 

A terrible call by Richie Garcia! IT'S ALL TIED UP!

Jon Miller, Orioles Radio

  


**October 9th, 1996**

  
  
“If you call that, that...  travesty a home run one more time I will end you.”   
  
  
“Hey, the umpire ruled--”   
  
  
“Shut. Up.”   
  
  
“The umpire ruled--”   
  
  
“I’m not kidding around here,” Andy growls, resisting the urge to throw her half-full cup of beer at him. It’s bad enough drinking Miller Lite, but flat Miller Lite? Hell no.   
  
  
“It’s only a game?” He tries, and honestly it’s the closest she’s come to punching him since they were first dating.   
  
  
“Come to New York for the night,  you said . It’ll be a nice break from the campaign,  you said . Wanna catch a ballgame,  you said . Why do I ever listen to you?”   
  
  
“I’m sure the Sun will love that shot of you in the dugout,” he tries, placating in that maddening ‘I married a lunatic’ voice that he reserves for occasions like this.   
  
  
“Just...take me home?” She pleads, even though they’re staying in a hotel tonight. Neither of Toby’s sisters have room for them, not really, and it’s better than trying to travel at this time of night.   
  
  
“That, I can do,” Toby says, and with his hand resting on the small of her back, he steers her through the dwindling crowd.   
  
  
He makes it the whole way back to the elevator of their hotel before his restraint fails him.    
  
  
“It actually was a home run, though. No way Tarasco gets that ball.”   
  
  
“Might I remind you that our room has a couch?”   
  
  
“And?” He says as they step out into the hallway.   
  
  
“And that’s where you’ll be sleeping if you don’t shut up,” she states, quite firmly.   
  
  
“Aw, c’mon,” Toby teases as she fishes in her purse for the room key. He slips his arms around her from the side, letting a feather-light kiss land on her jaw. “You know you don’t want to kick me out, not tonight.”   
  
  
“What’s so special about tonight?” Andy says as the door opens, and they shuffle in together because Toby apparently has no plans to let her go.   
  
  
“I’ve been thinking about what we discussed a few days ago...” He places the next kiss just under her ear, and he’s smiling when he does--he has a thing for her hair tied back, lately.    
  
  
“Buying a new apartment?” She wrinkles her nose in confusion.   
  
  
“No,” he says, with a kiss that catches the very edge of her mouth. “You idiot. About babies. And the potential making of them.”   
  
  
“You’re saying you want to have kids?” Andy turns to face him fully, her hands grabbing his shoulders out of habit. “That was... I mean, I thought that was still theoretical.”   
  
  
“It was, which is why I said I needed some time to think about it. And I have--thought about it. I thought about how cool it would be to take my son to his first Yankees game--”   
  
  
“Who says--”   
  
  
“Please. Let me dream,” Toby places a finger over her lips. “Or how nice those campaign photos might look with another person in them, if only to draw focus from me.”   
  
  
“And you’re saying you’re--what?--good to go. Now?” Andy can’t keep her eyebrows down. Any more arching and she’s going to pull a muscle in her forehead.    
  
  
“I’m saying there’s no harm in trying. Although, I think we’re good enough already, so we won’t need much practice,” He’s kicking off his shoes now, and they’re in motion again, towards the convenient bed that’s dominating the whole room. “But if you’re not there yet, say the word. We’ll go back to business as usual.”   
  
  
“I only brought this up because my doctor said I had to stop taking my Pill for a month or so,” Andy admits, worrying at her bottom lip. “I mean, I want this. I’ve always wanted this, but I wasn’t sure you ever would.”   
  
  
“I didn’t know if I would, either,” Toby agrees. “But I always said I’d never get married, and then you came along. I’m willing to accept that some positions can... evolve.”   
  
  
“You’ll never accept that,” Andy teases, but she kisses him until she’s good and breathless (although she maybe was a little breathless to start with).   
  
  
“And you’re sure?” She can’t quite believe it, no matter how much she wants to. It’s never this easy with them (except, sometimes).   
  
  
“As sure as I’ll ever be,” Toby says, and he’s cradling her face in his hands. “You’re crying?”   
  
  
“Good tears,” she huffs, trying to get a grip on herself. “Good tears, I swear. And I’m under control again.”   
  
  
He kisses her, tenderly, like he’s still asking for permission and because tonight is going to be different whether they intend it to or not.   
  
  
“We’re not going to become those people,” she says, as he kisses the column of her throat and slides his hands under her t-shirt. “I mean it--no tests and books and talking about it with everyone like we’re in a cult. We’ll just... see what happens. And carry on as normal until things change, okay?”   
  
  
“Sounds good to me,” Toby agrees, but his eyes are already darkened with arousal and in the next moment her top is sailing across the room. Maybe not so tender after all, and she’s absolutely fine with that.   
  
  
“One last thing,” Andy adds, with her hands poised above his belt buckle.    
  
  
“Anything,” Toby mutters, and she thinks he actually means that.   
  
  
“Lose the Yankees cap. I’m in pain here,” she smirks, and in an instant the offending item is sailing across the room to join her shirt.   
  
  
  
  
  


-5-

  
  


A bouncer to deep short, Jeter...long throw...diving is Cal but he can't get there in time! 

And the Yankees win the pennant!

Bob Costas

  


**December 13th, 1996**

  
  
“Hey,” Toby calls as he comes bustling through the front door. He’s juggling a briefcase and three grocery bags, but he’s fairly sure nothing broke on the way.   
  
  
“Hey!” Calls a familiar, but not familiar enough voice from the living room.   
  
  
“Meredith,” he greets his sister-in-law with a quick kiss to her cheek. It’s not exactly his comfort zone, but it’s expected with the Wyatt clan, and so he keeps the cheek-kissing peace. “You look lovely.”   
  
“Are you drunk?” She says, sniffy and suspicious as ever.   
  
  
“...no?” Toby confirms, because he hasn’t had a drink today. “And my wife would be...?”   
  
  
“In the bathroom,” Meredith confirms, before flicking her attention back to the muted television. She looks every bit the Wyatt woman, sitting there in her shift dress and pearls, which shouldn’t work on someone even younger than Andrea, but it does nonetheless.   
  
  
“Well, it’s a shame Catherine’s still in London,” he says, floundering for small talk. “Or we could have made it a real family dinner.”   
  
  
“Also, she lives in Manhattan. It’s not like she can pop over on a whim, Toby,” Meredith explains, as though he somehow doesn’t notice every day just how far they can be from New York.   
  
  
“Distance doesn’t seem to stop either of you,” Toby mutters under his breath. “Can I fix you a drink?”   
  
  
He’s more surprised that she doesn’t have a glass in her hand already.   
  
  
“Scotch--” she starts to ask,   
  
  
“On the rocks. Got it,” says Toby, and he flees for the cover of the kitchen.   
  
  
It’s when he brings back two filled glasses that Andy finally emerges. They meet in the hall with tired but genuine smiles, and he drinks in the sight of her because he missed her leaving this morning.  She’s wearing the new pinstripe thing that she agonized over, and he honestly doesn’t pay attention to her clothes, but for the fact that the skirt on this has a particularly eye-catching split. He’s not churlish enough to turn down a free glimpse of her legs whenever possible.   
  
  
“You told me to hurry home?” He asks, offering his glass up to her. She doesn’t share her sister’s fondness for ice.   
  
  
“Yeah,” she smiles, but she waves away the glass.   
  
  
It takes a full five seconds, but the meaning of her refusal and the nervous smile on her face finally dawns on him.   
  
  
“So you’re saying...”   
  
  
“Oh yeah,” she confirms, and the smile is so dazzling that he almost forgets how to stand, how to breathe, how to keep any kind of grip on the glasses in his hands. They splash Scotch around his ankles as he grabs her, pulling her into the kind of hug that he belatedly realizes might not be safe anymore. It’s lucky the carpet prevents the glasses from breaking or he’d probably lose his mind all in one moment.   
  
  
“Oh, don’t start with the made of china routine, Toby. I’m fine,” Andy sighs, and the irritation is like a confirmation of all she said about things not really having to change.   
  
  
“Wow,” he breathes, and the urge to kiss her is so urgent that he does before he can even think another word, never mind say it. “Who knew it was this easy?”   
  
  
“Well, I guess all those teenagers who do it by accident could probably tell you how easy it is,” she mocks, gently. “And I know they say you don’t tell people this early, but Mer is here and--”   
  
  
“Hey,” he cuts her off. “Your body, your rules. Tell anyone you want, whatever you want.”   
  
  
“It’s just superstition, really. Well, it’s not, but...”   
  
  
“You’ve already told me you’re pregnant, if that helps,” Meredith chimes in helpfully from the living room doorway. “Congratulations. And learn to whisper properly before the child is born. Trust me.”   
  
  
“Don’t start all that ‘I am the über mommy’ stuff on me, Mer,” Andy pleads, but she steps across to hug her sister anyway. As with any sober interaction between them, Toby notes, it looks more uncomfortable than anything else.   
  
  
“I guess I’d better fix a new round of drinks,” he announces, and slips back into the kitchen to do exactly that.   
  
  
He takes a moment to lean his head against the front of the freezer, closing his eyes to hear the chatter and laughing from the hall.   
  
  
This is it, he thinks. Game on.  
  
  


EPILOGUE

  
  
And okay, so maybe it doesn't feel quite... something. But he's used to that--he's never quite as happy as he's supposed to be, never quite as quick to laugh as he might hope. The worrying, though? The ten thousand problems that can stem from this one moment? He's already on that.  
  
  
But he knows enough already to know that he'll be keeping those thoughts to himself.


End file.
